I Wear Black. My Cats Wear White. We’re at War.

Once upon a time, I made a bold fashion choice: I wear black. Always. It’s not a phase, it’s a lifestyle. Black is slimming, dramatic, doesn’t show stains, and matches my soul on bad school-run mornings.

Then I went and filled my home with seven long-haired, mostly white indoor cats.

So now I live in a permanent state of visual betrayal.

🐾 Picture This:

I step out in my carefully curated black outfit — giving Wednesday Addams vibes, eyeliner sharp enough to slice judgement — and what’s clinging to me like my own personal brand of glitter?

A blizzard of cat fluff.

White. Wispy. Inescapable.

Like ghost dandruff, only sassier.

Here’s What No One Tells You About This Lifestyle:

• Lint rollers become emotional support items.
• Static cling? Oh, darling. It’s fashion.
• Guests think I’m shedding.
• “Is that angora?” No. It’s Ares underbelly.
• My clothes come with texture. Avant-garde.

Every seat, every blanket, every square inch of floor is a white fur trap. I can vacuum three times a day and still look like I’ve rolled around on a yeti.

And yet… I wouldn’t change a thing.

(Okay, I’d maybe change the colour of one or two cats — don’t tell them.)

Final Thoughts:

They’re fluffy, dramatic, needy little sofa lions who scream for food and nap like royalty.

And me? I’m their loyal servant… covered in white fluff, dressed in black, and constantly questioning my life choices with a lint roller in hand.

Fashion says pain is beauty. I say cat fluff is commitment.